The Quake Crew
by SlashDash
Summary: During a zombie outbreak, the responsible thing is to find food, family, friends, shelter, etc. But happens when you're irresponsible? Follow the adventure of a group of psychotic, masochistic, delinquent teenagers as they go to town on hordes of zombies.
1. Chapter 1

"**Goin' For a Goddamn Spin"**

**The Quake Crew: Chapter 1**

Waving my machete, I hang my head out the back window of Steve's shitty Corolla and whoop a "YEEE-HAAAAWWW!" You can hardly hear it over the Marilyn Manson we're blasting, but Steve starts wailing away too. He pushes the pedal even farther through the floor as we roar down the last mile of the interstate, sandwiched between fields and fire. Cockney, riding shotgun, loads her shotgun like tomorrow isn't coming. Because it probably isn't.

Golden Age of Grotesque, indeed.

The fuckin' meat-poles like downtown Sherry much more than out in the bufu farms, so that means we have to go to them. Sure, a couple knocked on our door and we knocked 'em dead, but it's not every day that you get to go on a killing spree AND get called a hero.

The interstate to get out of town is a parking lot of retards, trying to escape. Idiots cut each other off, but expect to be let in by calm, reasonable folks? Shit man, it doesn't take a kindergarten degree to see how quickly people started pulling those handguns out of the glove compartments and shooting "zombies." But then, once you got that fucker back, what do you do with his car? Nothing. It just sits there, blocking EVERYBODY'S path. And now you have one less bullet for them Second-Lifers and a lot of pissed off people in vehicles full of gasoline.

The way into town though is pretty clear. We just snaked past some accidents and managed to chop a moaner in two at like 45 mph. Nearly ripped my arm off, but it was worth watching that sad face of his finally look confused as he realized that not only was he missing out on a meal, but now he was missing out on his legs. He's gonna look like a goddamn seal waddling around on those stubby-ass arms. Hahahaha, what a bitch.

"Man, soon as we get into town, we gotta jack a fuckin' cop car," Steve says as he jacks the volume down. "That shit'll go fast and then we can start pulling people over, pretending like nothings happening. How confused would people be? 'But officer, there's a mob of zombies following me!' 'I don't care, you were speeding. Here's a ticket, asshole.'" Steve laughed like a pig as he handed over the imaginary ticket.

"Haha yeah yeah. I'm gonna bust open a gumball machine and watch 'em all skate like 4 year olds, til they bust open their faces. Then I can just curb-stomp their ass!" Cockney starts stomping the floor and we all join in, the car jerking like it can't wait either.

Harry's Hardware passes us on the left, with no more geezers playing checkers on that long-ass front porch any more. Steve sees it, hits the breaks like it's his sister and starts turning the car like he's fucking James Bond. Except in a shitty Corolla.

"What the fuck, asshole?" Cockney shouts.

"I want a goddamn Coke or three, and nows a particularly good time to sit down and enjoy it good and proper. No geezers or weezers. Sorry to disturb your make-up."

"Asshole. I almost pulled the trigger and that would've disturbed more than your eyeliner, dickweed."

"Yeah, yeah. Don't get your thong all up in a bunch now, we're here."

I kick open the back door of that green, generic piece of 1994 ass, and step out. I'm looking pretty bad-ass, I gotta admit. I found my little brother's toy-gun cowboy holster, but filled it with real brain-blowing ammo and pistols. I didn't bother with the boots, since that isn't as practical as some straight-up Air Jordans. You never know when you'll play some one-on-one or twelve-on-one with some ex-people. And they just love to foul you.

Of course, guns are great and all, but they're for later. Right now, I managed to get this rusty as hell machete that I sharpened up real quick. Dad wanted me to clean it last month, but pshaw, maybe now I'll get around to cleaning it. And hopefully give some fuckers some lock-jaw in the process. That'll shut 'em up.

I wasn't about to give Steve my fave hack-and-slash, but he wasn't lacking either. He ripped off the thick-ass chain he had on his bike, and locked the biggest padlock he could find to the end of it. It'll be fun for a little bit, but even he knows it'll get tangled. That's why he also has a thick-ass pipe, like three feet long, next to the sawed-off on his back.

Of course, can't forget our dainty little Cockney- her parents named her Courtney, but we all know how she's got like 8 fuckin' balls and a 4 foot cock on her. Probably why no one else at school fucks with her. Probably why she's got a backpack full of ol' Molotov Cockney-tails and like half her dad's personal arsenal. While we plan to have a little fun with the light stuff first, she's probably gonna start with the hundreds of shells we got in our pockets, backpacks, ammo straps, and trunk.

We are The Quake Crew.

Steve strolls on up the stairs, struts across the porch and kicks open the door with a "CRACK!"

"YO, BITCHES! Where you at? I got some lead fo yo FACE!"

Old man Harry Miller looks up from the register, stops mashing the buttons and looks dead-on at us. His beer-belly is spilled all over the floor and to be honest, the weight he lost makes him look a lot better.

"Dibs," Steve says. He takes a step, does a half swing of the chain and whips it around Harry's neck. Chink, chink, chink, the chain clatters as it makes it's rounds. Dude gives a good moan before Steve slams his bald head down. A much meatier "CRACK" than the door. Of course, he tries to get up, so he gets another "CRACK." This time, though, he gets it through his thick skull that he should stay down and let the big boys do their thing. Haha, what a bitch.

"Hey watch out, he's probably got a pretty boy giving him a blowjob under that counter." Cockney shouts.

And sure enough, there's his lanky stockboy Kenny munching on his intestines, his mouth full of meat. He looks so satisfied, just chomping down on innards like corn on the cob, I almost feel bad plastering the floor with his brains. But then I remember how like two weeks ago, he wouldn't help me on my pre-algebra test. What a bitch. All he had to do was let me borrow his sheet for like 5 minutes to write down the answers. Nothing to get all pissed about. So I pull out the pistol and give him a bullet facial.

"There, now we're even."

We look around, but nobody else is there. No surprise: we're even louder than when we're at school and now that adults really want to kill us, they would've been here by now. Or maybe there is someone who is actually getting eaten alive as we speak, but is keeping quiet because they're so afraid of us. I'd believe it.

"Alright, let's take all the hotdogs and beef jerky and stuff. I want some meat. Oh, and get a couple big bags of potato chips and like... five cases of soda," Steve says. He opens up a big bag of chips and dumps them all over the floor. "Now I can fill this up with candy too." Steve starts running around like a little kid in a candy store, going between the racks of stuff and the car like every thirty seconds.

"Hey, I'll get the booze. We gotta get a bunch of that." Cockney grabs one of those hand-basket thingies and heads back to the coolers in the back. "Natty Ice? Nope. Budweiser? Sure. Heinekein. Definitely. Grey Goose? Hell yes." She has to start making trips too, just that her trips clink a lot more than Steve's.

I look around for something to do while everyone is stocking up. Steve has the healthy stuff and Cockney has the fun stuff, so I carefully step behind the counter to grab a little cash while we're at it. Kenny and Miller are all over each other, just like in real life, but they're definitely down. Still, it's creepy that their mouths are like 2 inches away from my fucking leg.

"Mmm... 151 Rum... maybe I can make some Flaming Dr. Peppers for those z-bags," Cockney says to herself in the corner, examining fancy bottle of whatever.

Spreading my legs so I step on the little bit of space that isn't occupied by bodies, I feel like some old dude doing Tai Chi in the park real early in the morning or something. I pistol-whip the cash register with my machete and watch as it springs open. Inside, there's like $200, which I promptly shove into my back pocket. I love it when things work out the way I want them to.

I start to lift one of my legs when I feel teeth. "What the fuck! Shit!" I jump out of the way.

Looking over, it was just the bottom half of Kenny's head shifting. Duh. God, I'm so retarded. Still, that was weird. Note to self: don't put my leg into anybody's mouth, especially zombie mouths.

Outside, everything is empty. It's usually pretty quiet, but now it's even more boring than I than I thought was possible.

"Hey, I think we're all filled up," Steve says, walking out with a case of Snickers.

I look around: we've done a pretty good job of cleaning the place out. As a finishing touch, I kick a rack of Cheetos and Doritos and shit over. There, now our masterpiece is finished.

"Alright, let's go kill us some bitches."


	2. Chapter 2

The Quake Crew: Chapter 2

"What Are YOU Lookin' At?"

Chk chk. Boom Cockney's shotgun blows some fat-fuck's brains out.

Covered in blood, I hack off some old lady's head. Taking a step back, I look around; we're doing pretty good. We're in a semi-circle in the street, with Steve on my left and Cockney on my right. There's maybe two dozen corpses on the ground and another dozen walkers stumbling towards us from various directions, moaning. I'd be moaning too, if I knew how I'd end up.

Chk chk. Boom

Behind me, the car is all smashed up against a red pick-up truck that someone left in the middle of the street. People just don't know how to park. It's maybe 4:30, with plenty of light, so Steve really shouldn't have had an excuse to fuck up so early in our joyride. Especially since it was the only vehicle on the four-lane street. Fuck it, I'll bug him when we're not killing shit.

Chk chk. Boom

"Hey Jimmy," Steve shouts. He's dropped the chain and is now on his pipe, swinging like Sosa.

"What?" I yell back.

"Can you beer me? I'm getting thirsty. This is some goddamn work!" He connects to some dude's head with what would've been a t-ball homerun.

Chk chk. Boom

"Fine." I could use a break anyhow. I look over at Cockney and it looks like she's doing fine. Her box of ammo is probably half-full, and she's got an impressive pile of shells. Down the street, she's got another big pile of bodies started. I bet if we were patient enough, we could count her shells and her bodies and see how accurate of a shot she really is.

Chk chk. Boom

Or not. I never really liked math anyways.

Chk chk. Boom

There's one z-boy coming at me that, all things considered, I should probably murder. We haven't had too many kids so far, but then again, there were like 5 kids in the entire school district before this whole Play-Day went down. This one is a Stevenson kid- he's got the trademark red hair and blue eyes of that clan. I think we might've gotten a couple of the older ones earlier, but then again, I would've remembered that. The mom was hot, but the dad was a fucking wino.

"Hey Steve," I shout. "Did we get any Stevensons yet?"

"I got Jeremy earlier. Where's my beer?"

"I'm getting it. Cockney, any Stevensons?"

"Naw, the little one in front of ya is the first one I've seen so far." She shouts.

Chk chk. Boom

"You want him?" She asks, ever so kindly.

"Yeah, haven't gotten a kid yet." Given that we only have like, I don't, another 5 or 6 zombies coming in at us, I have some time to have some fun. First, I raise my machete nice and high and swung, severing his left arm. While he's looking at that, figuring out if his arm is edible or not, I bring the machete back up from below, cutting into his right armpit. The blade snags for a sec in the shoulder, and he tries to chew on it, but I yank it again. The arm drops off like rotten fruit, his head flies up, and then he's on his back. He tries to swing around to get me, but without arms, he's slow. I drop the blade into his stomach, like I'm pinning a beetle to some weird science project and start moving up. He doesn't even notice. The ribcage makes it difficult, so I just cut to the chase and cut into his throat. After decapitating him, I look up. More zombies. Sigh.

Chk chk. Boom

"Beer!" Steve shouts.

"I'm going, I'm going." I back up towards the truck. "Cockney, can you cover me?"

"A little. I'm kinda busy and Steve's in my line of fire, so... make it quick."

Chk chk. Boom

"Aight!"

I run back the Corolla. The front is all smashed up on the left corner. Cockney was pissed and started bitching about her neck, but then the second-lifers started coming in. One actually reached in and grabbed her hair before I could fire off my pistol. After that, she shut up and we started fighting. This is the first time we've had an opportunity to get something to drink.

I search the driver's side for the trunk button and pull the hood up instead. I look a little lower and find it, popping the trunk. Rushing back there, I realize how much random shit they stuffed in there: boxes of candy, bags of chips, some 2-liters. It's a wonder they had room for any booze at all. Luckily though, the entire back half is full of the fun stuff. I grab a six pack of Heinekein and spin around. There's a fucker like 2 feet from me.

"Goddammit."

Chk chk. Boom

I kick him in the chest, but he grabs my leg. He starts reaching his fugly face towards my shins, so I wiggle and wrestle, kicking him some more. I reach into my holster, but my pistol jumped right out. It's there on the ground, next to me. I look up, just as he starts gnawing on my shoe. I fall backwards, bringing him with me. I get my other foot up and carry him over me. He flies right into the pickup truck and loses his grip. I reach for the gun. His hands reach for my arm as I recoil. I take a quick aim. Brain guts splatter the chrome hubcaps.

"Goddammit."

I look over and see blood all over the beers. Now I'm gonna have to clean those up.

"Goddammit."

Chk chk. Boom

Fuck it, I'll just get a different six-pack and clean those up later. I rummage in the trunk and get some Budweiser. This will do. I spin around again and there's more zombies. Like 30 of them this time.

"Jimmy, where the fuck's my beer?" Steve is getting pissed, although I wonder if it's just about the beer.

Chk chk. Boom

"I got it." I run up, pop one open and hand it to him. "I hope you're happy."

"I hope you get back to killing some of these guys," he says, after taking a swig. "So far, I'm whooping your ass."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. You get next beer run."

Chk chk. Boom

I take a step forward and take a guy's head off, kicking the body aside. Steve brings the pipe up over his head and smashes down, crumpling an otherwise respectable mother of the PTA. I wind-up and put my blade through a businessman's ex-eye socket. Steve goes home run derby on somebody's fat grampa.

Chk chk. Boom

I saw back and forth on a woman's neck, and kick another body back. Steve hits one in the side of the face and then, in rapid succession hits another two in the head: bam! bam! One comes back up, so he hits it back down. I bring my knife down into a skull, get it stuck, pull it out, avoid his incoming mouth, step back and chop at the neck.

Chk chk. Boom

"Hey Steve," I say, pulling out my pistol. "That sounds like a good idea."

"Yeah," he replies. "These fuckers ain't playing around."

I extend my arm and blast a guy's brains, point-blank. The chamber on my revolver spins and stops, and I fire again, dropping a body a few feet away.

Chk chk. Boom

Steve's sawed-off drops a husband and wife couple, who looked like they were going on one fucked-up date. I blow a little kid's head off. I look up.

MORE. FUCKING. ZOMBIES. Must be at least 50 of the fuckers.

Chk chk. Boom

Steve fires again and backs up. I follow him, shooting off the rest of my chamber. I get a body a bullet, but I'm not savoring it. I drop behind Steve as I reload. He shoots again. As I put the cartridges in, I realize that it's been a while since I've heard from Cockney.

"Hey, Cockmonger, how you doin'?" I shout.

"Pretty fucking busy," she cries back tersely. "I'm making them some treats though."

Looking back, I see her digging through her backpack and pulling out Molotov Cocktails. A crowd of like 50 or 60 zombies is stumbling towards her, the closest perhaps 20 feet away. She lights one and throws it into an accountant-looking dude and he goes up in huge fucking flames. WHOOOSH! His buddy, a chef, gets his fancy hat caught too. Yet they still keep walking, maybe 10 feet away.

Chk chk. Boom Chk chk. Boom Chk chk. Boom

She blows another couple of them away. She strikes a match, brings it to a wick and chucks another cocktail. A couple more zombies in the crowd go up, but they keep coming. And now they're on fire.

"Dude, this is a shitty place to be right now," I tell Steve, unloading another couple blasts into our crowd of undead.

"Tell me about it," he says, smashing a woman in the face. "How's Cockney doing?"

"She's probably even more fucked." I shoot til I hear the clicks of empty chambers.

"Well, then we should probably go some place more pleasant, like Disney World," he says, breaking a fucker's kneecaps and stomping his head.

"I could use a vacation. Hey Cockney, we're gonna take a trip to Disney World. Wanna come?"

"Hell yes."

Chk chk. Boom

"Well, let's get the fuck out of here then."


End file.
